


look at you now

by spheeris1



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Longing, Memories, thoughts about family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: Villanelle p.o.v. // drabble // S3 // It's a lot like a puzzle with pieces always missing.
Kudos: 14





	look at you now

/ / /

It's a lot like a puzzle with pieces always missing. That's how you see your mind. Your heart, too.

An image of something, maybe a house or maybe a room, the scent grass after a spring rain or the snap of a rabbit's neck – soft and warm, all the same. A flash of a smile, of a growl, a tug on a tiny arm. Black ink, your name scrawled on paper and then carved into flesh...

...you are a lot like a puzzle, that's how you see your life. That's how you see your everything.

/

_“You don't know what that is.”_

And after the gunshot, after Rome, after days upon days upon days of doing the same old same old, those words came back to you. They never left, not really, but when you are done – well, you are done, and what did you need to know about love anyway?

How boring. How pedestrian. How naive and stupid.

You are none of those things, are you? No, of course not.

_“You don't know what that is.”_

But those words came back around, circling your brain like a vulture, and so you found a pretty woman – with good shoes, good house, good money – and you said you'd marry her. You'd retire from the rat race, you'd find out what's been missing and fill up that space with all the things you've always sought out and that would be that.

It didn't take, in the end.  
It didn't take and so you set her free. In a manner of speaking.

Look at how much you have grown, you think as you stare at yourself in the mirror, look at how you can walk away and not kill anyone this time. Well done.

/

Children are annoying. You were probably not annoying as a child, but all the others – yes, they are useless. They whine. They talk too loudly. They are so messy.

And you watch this baby, this baby that some woman was willing to die for, and you honestly do not get it. And you watch this baby, this baby that has a father – weeping and smiling in front of the news cameras – and no more crying now, not in its father's arms.

You don't get it. But maybe you want to. Sort of. Kind of.

And you watch this man kiss the top of this baby's head and you find your fingertips working over the same spot on your own head. And you try to recall your own baby face – was it chubby, was it cute – and did someone bounce you on their knee or sing lullabies to you to keep you calm?

Were you loved and missed like this baby on the television was?

_“You don't know what that is.”_

But it's not Eve's voice this time, it's your own voice, ricocheting about your skull without end. And it sends you seeking, it sends you searching for threads you thought didn't matter. It sends you on a search for yourself.

Look at you now, you think as you board this train and hiccup your way across a flat landscape, look at what you're willing to do for real power, for real knowledge, for all this emptiness inside of you to make sense...

...yes, look at you now, just look at you now.

/

And you don't know this road. You don't know these homes. Or these gardens. You don't know these people and you wonder why. Why you never saw them, why you never heard from them, why you thought they were dead in the first place.

You wonder if this is what's been missing from your body, like an arm chopped off; you wonder if all these phantom pains are due to a family that forgot all about you.

Of course, you forgot about them, too.

You forgot or you shook it off or you strangled it until no more air could get in. You wore better clothes. You ate better food. You fucked better men and better women. You escaped a fate like this one here – in a boot-heel of a town, with wallpaper peeling back and chicken shit around the edges – you have lived a better life than this one, haven't you?

A life without a family. Without a home. Without anyone to miss you when you've gone.

And so forgetting was easy. But look at you now...

_A cache of larkspur in your hands. Poplars towering over you._  
_Strands of hair, brittle and flat in the sunlight._  
_A face pale and listless, mouth open wide with snores._

...brief recollections that make you sick to your stomach. They're too sharp. They're too strong. You swallow and swallow but still cannot make them go down fully.

And so maybe you didn't forget. Just misplaced for a while. And maybe you want a kiss atop the head, maybe you want to be welcomed back, maybe you want to be found.

Oh, look at you now, Oksana...Would you just look at you now, eh?

**[end]**

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about how S3-EP5 will go and listening to 'Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters.'  
> All mistakes are mine. Cheers.


End file.
